


Hauntings of Victorian Vermin

by Lemon_Scented_Socks



Category: Original Work
Genre: Creepy, Gothic, Gothic Literature, Horror, Oneshot, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Third Person, Psychological Horror, Scary, Spooky, Thriller, completed work, independent work - Freeform, mysterious thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Scented_Socks/pseuds/Lemon_Scented_Socks
Summary: When you wake up in a dauntingly dark corridor with no knowledge of how you got there would you explore a dilapidated room full of mystery and secrets? Sometimes it's better to stay blissfully ignorant.Finished Oct. 19, 2020





	Hauntings of Victorian Vermin

_Light_. As the sunsets on the horizon she looks outside of her second story window. The garden is directly below her window, their family regularly grows squash, cucumbers, and other various vegetables.

  
Turning from the beautiful colors shining through her window, she climbs into her bed, small but enough for her ever growing body. As the light fades around her bed, her long brown hair splays around the pillow. She starts to think about what is to come in the next morning. School, where she will learn for hours, then to tend around the house. Her eyelashes flutter over her olive eyes, obscuring the items around her small room. Finally, she falls asleep waiting to wake up to another glorious day.

  
_Dark_. All she saw was darkness. In a corridor so old there wasn’t any modern light fixtures, not even a torch.

  
_Where am I,_ she wondered as the darkness seemed to swallow her. To get her bearings, she made an attempt to look at her surroundings in vain. With her limited vision she saw what appeared to be holes in the decrepit walls. The floor creaked as she shuffled from foot to foot.

  
Faintly she could see shadows down the hall; shadows needed a light to create such a thing. _I might as well see what awaits me_ , she thought as the darkness slowly began to ease, the light getting closer with each stride.

  
Rounding the corner, she could see a window casting moonlight upon the dilapidated hall. A rat, shocked by the sudden arrival of another living being, shot out from one of the many holes through out the wall. Startled, she had to catch herself on the window, for fear that she might have fallen through the decaying floor.

  
Moonlight shined on her, giving her a heavenly glow in the otherwise frighteningly oppressive corridor. She could now feel the breeze through the cracks in the glass, however, there was an underlying scent of death and sludge from what she now understands is a harbor. The stench was so repulsive it made her eyes burn with tears, she stumbled back and caught her flowing dress on a nail in the floorboards.

  
Knocking through a door opposite to the window she fell to the floor. She hurriedly scrambled to her feet, knowing that if she stayed any longer she might be paralyzed with the palpable fear that seemed to fill the room—looming above her, around her, chilling her bones, making them as stiff as a board.

  
As the dust settled, she looked around the dark, musty room in curiosity and still lingering fear that only seemed to grow. The room, scarcely lit with the bluish hue of the moon, only blocked with her shadow, revealed a desk sitting in the corner, its stance menacing and threatening.

  
The desk was filled to the brim with depictions that seemed to deceive her and hand written letters staring at her. Some also hung upon the walls, others scattered about on the floor carelessly, almost as if the person who wrote them left in a hurry. The whole room felt like a cage waiting to be unlocked. Waiting for someone to stumble in. Waiting for her.  
She shivered as the desk called out to her, drawing her in. The splintered wood, illuminated by the bluish moonlight, felt used and worn. She could almost picture a sinister being sitting slouched over the desk, slaving away over countless documents. Her olive eyes caught sight of the chair which sat askew from the desk, enticing her to sit down, enter the trap.

  
The desk chair squeaked as she sat down. Setting the folds of her puffy dress around her in elegance and poise as she has been taught from a young age. The moonlight fell around her, illuminating her white as snow complexion, as the room was lit just enough for her to make out the objects on the desk.

  
She found herself unable to touch the floor, as the chair was unusually tall and she was rather small. It felt claustrophobic to not fit the chair or the desk. _I would rather not get my shoes dirty anyhow_ , she thought in an attempt to keep her wits about her.

  
Her olive eyes and dainty hands rest upon the old cedar wood, the smell causing her to remember getting lost in the forrest when she was young. Laying on the desk were several letters, dusty and old. The fading ink and shaky cursive seems to draw her in. Her eyes widen and she can’t seem to look away. The foreboding feeling she was getting from the decaying and shadowed room intensified as her long brunette hair seemed to drape in front of her face, effectively blocking out the sides of her vision.

  
Upon a brief look up she spotted a slightly torn picture clipped to the hand written letter. Her slender fingers started to shake, completely forgetting the letter she was just looking at, when she moved them towards the picture. A fine line between the moonlight and shadows prevented her from seeing the details of the image, but she can almost make out a figure surrounded by a metal object on the ground.

  
Her nose scrunches up as she lays a finger on the image, creating a cavity in the film of dust. An oppressive feeling overwhelmed her being, raising the hair on her neck, as she continued to stare at the photograph, almost as if someone was looming behind the chair she was sitting in with a wicked smile stretched about their face.

  
A sudden screech echos in her ears, causing her to launch off her seat in suffocating terror. The mint green dress she was wearing catches on a notch in the desk and rips a gash in the side. The twisting of her body had the corset tighten and temporarily cut off her breathing. She looks towards the doorway. _Just another rat_ , she sighs as she unhooks her dress from the notch in the wooden desk.

  
Standing up she assessed the damage to her dress. The mint green material is torn and tattered, running from the seam of her waist band to the creaky floorboards. When the dress caught the desk scrapped along the floorboards, creating light, visible scratches in the decaying wood.

  
Pictures and letters, torn and faded, fell dramatically to the floor and scattered around her feet. Among the pictures was the letter she was looking at previously to the noisy rat that scared her.

  
Bending over, being mindful of the large gash in the side of her elegant dress, the picture once again captivated her wide olive eyes. Now passed the margin of shadows and moonlight the gruesome picture can be easily seen.

  
Gasping she steps away from the horrific details in the picture. Once again that feeling of someone looming behind her, breathing down her neck, watching her be terrorized by the conclusions drawn from the graphic photograph layer delicately about the dilapidated floor.

  
The image depicts a man, his face taught and a sinister smile adorning his tan face, wearing a white knee length coat. His hair is short and brown, leaving her to stare into the dark and everlasting depths of his blue eyes. They almost seem to be staring at her, or at least the camera, with hate and evil intentions. Next to the man is a woman strapped to a bed, looking to be insane, wearing a white knee length robe. Her caramel eyes gave the impression of panic and anxiety towards the man and her situation. On the floor next to them is an empty cage. The previous contents not clear, however, the cage door is open likely letting out an animal into the room.

  
The details all the more clear from the moonlight cast into the room from the window across the hall. _Did that happen here?_ She thought as she starts looking around the sparsely lit room frantically, trying desperately to find evidence to dispute her theories in vain.

  
The looming entity around her is suffocating. She quickly picks up the old and torn letter attached to the picture, surely this will explain away the crazy conclusions she has come up with regarding the picture.

  
The letter is titled “Experiment 23” the ink is almost unreadable, so faded the veins of the paper show through in the moonlight. The date in the corner is almost completely gone, only a faint 01-09 shows up. _January 9th?_ She thinks, _Today is January 9th if I haven’t lost any days._ The letter looks several years older than today, however. Odd. She remarks in her head.

  
She starts reading the first paragraph, holding the paper between the her middle finger and thumb with both hands to prevent creasing the delicate paper, afraid that pressing any harder might cause the paper to turn to ashes.

_This day marks the start of experiment 23. To succeed where the experiments before have failed. The goal of this experiment is to determine what causes female hysteria to better accurately create a cure. Symptoms include nervousness, lightheadedness, anxiety, panic, hysterics, and lack of interest in food or sexual nature._

_Women Hysteria?_ She thinks. The topic was popular in the neighboring towns, never quite reaching the small suburban roads where she lives. She remembers coming down the rickety stairs of her families modern house, complete with a wrap around deck her neighbors were envious of, and her father recounting an article in the local paper. He started listing off towns that did horrendous experiments on women to figure out why they were in hysterics.

  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the scratching of rats along the old wooden floorboards outside of the room. _There are so many rats in this blasted place._ She thought as she decides to keep reading the fading ink in the old, torn paper.

_The first candidate is Vanessa Brown age 22, her symptoms include frequent anxiety and panic, insomnia, lack of eating, and lightheadedness. We have had to strap her down to the bed to better test on her before starting the experiment, her hysteria hasn’t yet set in. We will begin the procedure once we have gathered as much information needed about her life and habits._

The man who last used this caging, claustrophobic room must have been the man in the photo. Confident in her assessment she looks around the room to see evidence of the devices the man talks about, the ever present oppressive feeling sends goosebumps down her arms as she turns in place. With only one more paragraph to read she resolves to finish the creepy letter before her nerves get the best of her.

_The final procedure involves strapping her un-hysteric self to a metal chair to find out what will cause her to become hysterical. We have chosen rats. We trained the rats to attack any person with an unfamiliar smell. Hopefully, this will cause her to become hysterical and narrow down the possible causes of female hysteria._

As she reads the last sentence the decaying floorboards creak behind her. Dropping the delicate letter she turns around slowly, creaking the floorboards on her side of the room.

  
A rat stands on the opposite side of the room, near the door frame she originally fell through. The moonlight casts a shadow over the rats front as it is turned away from the fowl smelling window.

  
Starting to hyperventilate she looks for away passed the rat that is likely waiting for a moment to strike. She’s determined not to die in this dilapidated house filled to the brim with horrors she could never imagine, practically a melting pot of her worst fears.

  
When her anxiety gets to the peak and she starts to shake, the rat sniffs and starts running towards her, avoiding the holes in the old wooden floor. Her resolve snaps. Running towards the only available exit she picks up the ruffles on her torn mint green dress.

  
Once in the hallway, she dashes down the right side, away from the direction she woke up in. Scratches and thumps behind her let her know that the rats are right on her tail, and they know the falling apart house better than she does.

  
Panicking, she opens the last door that leads out of the hallway. Without looking in she shuts the door behind her, leaning her full weight to keep the rats out of the room. Small impacts and clawing tell her the rats are trying to get into the room, hopefully there isn’t another entrance they can get through.

  
Leaning her forehead against the door, she looks towards her feet and notices tile, the kind she would see in the asylum her grandmother stays in for her disease. The temporary relief from her creeping anxiety and foreboding feelings come back with the draining adrenaline.

  
Slowly moving her head upwards, she spots the restraining chair in the middle of the room talked about in the letter she read. Only being lit by the sliver of moonlight coming from underneath the door, as there were no windows in the room, she could see rust littered the metal of the chair, or maybe it was drying blood. The leather straps connected to the legs and armrests looked old and worn.

  
Her terror from finding the cursed room caused her to loosen the pressure she put on the wooden door to the room. Without a lock from the inside the rats slowly pushed the door open, each creak bringing her back to the present.

  
She backs up as tens of rats creep their way into the slowly illuminating room, replacing shadows with the light needed to properly take in the horror of the room. She can faintly make out what she believes is scratches from previous victims held in the room.

  
A squeak brings her attention to the rats crossing the linoleum tiles to reach her. Is this how it ends? She thinks. Never being severely religious gives her freedom on the weekends, but she finds herself praying to any gods that’s will listen to keep her from the gruesome death staring directly into her olive eyes.

  
The rats rush her at once, the first taking a chunk out of her delicate ankle covered in nude tights. Kicking the rat off she stumbles back, dress catching on the metal of the chair she unknowingly stumbled back into. Falling into the cushy leather seat, she finds herself with nowhere left to go.

  
More rats come further to take flesh from her legs and dainty feet. Even in moments like these she takes the time to appreciate how she’s still to short too reach the floor.

  
Bleeding onto the tiles she starts feeling lightheaded and delirious from pain. Some rats towards the back of the pack impatiently make their way up the armrests to take bites out of her shoulder and torso. She no longer has the energy to try and fight off the rats ruthlessly attacking her.

  
Now in hysterics she almost misses the looming figure that slips in through the opened door. The slight block of moonlight catching her attention.  
As she fades in and out of consciousness she sees the sinister smile she kept imagining while in the cage like room.  
Finally, she looses herself in the terror. The strange man watches on as bone and muscle shows through from the chunks the rats remove from her slacked frame.


End file.
